


Vestments for Violence

by Gamebird



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 19:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/853222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gamebird/pseuds/Gamebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season One. Jessica, Sylar, Audrey and Ted garb themselves in different ways to prepare for the possibility of killing. Written for heroes contest One-Shot Challenge #33, "Dressed to Kill"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vestments for Violence

**Title:**  Vestments for Violence  
 **Characters:**  Jessica, Sylar, Audrey, Ted (no pairings)  
 **Rating:**  PG  
 **Words:**  700  
 **Setting:**  Season One. Jessica - Better Halves. Sylar - .07%. Audrey - pre-Don't Look Back. Ted - Company Man.  
 **Summary:**  Various characters garb themselves in different ways to prepare for the possibility of killing.  
 **Notes:**  Written for heroes_contest One-Shot Challenge #33, "Dressed to Kill"

* * *

**Jessica**

Slinky red dress - check. Stiletto heels - check. Matching lingerie - check. She paused over the thong and lacy bra, considering the pros and cons of going commando - mainly, which was hotter? Because Jessica knew that her power derived from her sex appeal. She was a femme fatale, not a hulked out monster. She donned the right attire, touched up her expertly applied make-up and dabbed on a bit of perfume. She appraised her finished appearance with a sultry smile. She could feel the charge she gave off - waves of energy that would turn people's heads and leave them stunned (or worse) in her wake. The money launderer would never know what hit him. A few minutes later, she slipped quietly out of the house, leaving D. L.'s slumbering form none-the-wiser.

Wasn't that always how men were?

* * *

**Sylar**

Sylar walked through the store, fingers trailing uncouthly along the rows of shirts, all colors and styles and fabrics. A high-end place like this was a foreign country to him, but so much that used to be strange and unfamiliar was now his to toy with. Unearned money burned in his pocket - 'ill-gotten gains' was a phrase that described so much about him these days. He stopped at a nice, unpretentious long-sleeved shirt, a cotton-blend with good lines and deep color. The one on the outside was black and coincidentally his size. A smile tickled his lips. Yes, this would do for his appointment this afternoon with Mr. Mendez. The man was supposedly an artist, so hopefully he would appreciate, or at least acknowledge, the color palette Sylar would use for his outfit. Even if Isaac didn't, Sylar was still glad to be out of Zane's trashy leftovers. He heard the distant sigh of the shop clerk when he lifted the shirt from the rack. He'd been a little surprised that they hadn't descended on him as soon as he entered the store, but now they approached.

He'd touched the merchandise; he had to pay.

* * *

**Audrey**

Audrey laid out her gear, just like she'd been taught. She stood at the end of the bed in the cramped hotel room, out on the edge of who-knows-where. It was probably another false lead, but you could never tell. Every mission had to be treated like the real deal. She was wearing silk underwear (not for any prurient reason, but because it was a light, breathable and non-flammable fabric), matching white socks and a beige sports bra. Her eyes roved over her equipment - combat boots, nomex pants, gun belt, t-shirt, tactical vest, nomex over-shirt, shoulder harness, plus the small boot holster for her hold-out gun. Speaking of the guns, she carried three of them - one at the hip, one in the shoulder holster and the already-mentioned one in her boot. Not that she was a gun-nut or anything. The things she'd seen Sylar leave behind at crime scenes made her itch to add a fourth gun to her arsenal, and maybe a grenade or two. Knives weren't an option. The freak she was after took too much glee in skewering people with things. No doubt an expression of sexual frustration, but she wasn't here to psychoanalyze the creep. No, she was here to stop him.

She started getting dressed.

* * *

**Ted**

Ted roused from sleep, his eyes scratchy, mouth dry. He could hear his traveling companion in the hotel bathroom, running the shower. Matt was … okay, Ted supposed. He tossed back the thin sheet he'd slept under and sat up, already (still) dressed. Today they would close in on this Bennet person's house. Matt wanted information. Ted wanted revenge. Information was the first step in that, which was why he was here. He reached out and snagged his muted plaid shirt-jacket as the shower kicked off. His feet found his rugged, battered shoes a few moments later, completing his outfit. Matt came out shortly, brows pulling together as he gave Ted a once over. "Are you  _ever_ gonna change clothes? You been wearing the same stuff since Nevada, man. You're startin' to  _smell_."

Ted sniffed at his pits. He didn't smell like anything but himself, so what was the problem? "Just let me brush my teeth and I'll be ready to go."


End file.
